


Fell just like a star

by pene



Category: Bones
Genre: Cabin Fic, F/F, Femslash, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-01
Updated: 2009-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pene/pseuds/pene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snow-bound cabin romance, but with scientists</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fell just like a star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SailorGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=SailorGirl).



It's a dark night, but two sets of headlights reflect against the snow and Temperance can make out Cam's profile across the car interior.

"It came out of nowhere," says Cam for the third time.

"Are you certain you haven't hit your head?" asks Temperance. She peers helpfully at Cam's head. Even this way up, it's a well-shaped head.

"I didn't hit my head," says Cam.

"You're repeating yourself," Temperance explains.

"I know," says Cam with a flicker of a smile. "It's a reaction to the shock. Oddly I find this situation disturbing."

Temperance nods. It's reasonable to be disquieted. Apart from anything else, both they and Cam's car are inverted in a snow drift. There's an overturned semi-trailer a mere twenty meters away.

"We need to investigate the driver," says Temperance and swivels her body to slide through the window into the snow. She knows Cam will follow.

They are on their way back to DC. Temperance was discussing the presence of magnesium-based grafting in a recent victim's pubic arch and watching Cam's sure hands on the wheel, when a massive semi-trailer veered wildly toward Cam's car. Cam's sharp driving sent them into the drift rather than under the trailer's cab.

"You're an excellent driver," acknowledges Temperance as they walk towards the truck.

"Thank you. Sometimes you learn something useful on the force," says Cam. Cam always sounds faintly amused when talking to Temperance. Temperance files the thought for later consideration.

The truck driver is dead. The collision has thrown him halfway through the windscreen which is never good. There's no need to look at the bones at this point. Even on a cursory examination it is clear that blood loss from a sliced femoral artery killed him, if nothing else did.

Temperance and Cam's eyes meet across the body.

"He looks familiar," says Cam.

"He should. He is the prime suspect in the Seth case."

"Was," says Cam.

"He still is a suspect," says Temperance reasonably. "He's just dead."

"We can be fairly sure he was trying to kill us," says Cam.

"That is probably the best explanation."

"In that case, I think we can hypothesize that he's more than a suspect," says Cam.

It's unfortunate; with the driver dead and without cell phone reception or collision analysts they won't uncover anything about the accident now. The driver probably feels it's unfortunate too.

"Seatbelts should be compulsory," says Temperance.

"And I believe we're in Maryland, where they are," says Cam. "But I can't call the cops on him unless we suddenly have reception." She pulls out her phone and confirms, "Nope. We'd better pick a direction and start walking before we die of exposure." Cam's practicality seems effortless even in the cold.

Temperance considers. "Turn out the headlights."

They allow their eyes time to adjust to the pale starlight and scour the landscape. "There's a building on the horizon," says Temperance, pointing. Cam nods. It's not like they have many options. They walk.

The crunch of snow underfoot is sharp in the still night. The cold air stings Temperance's nostrils. Very quickly there's no possibility for conversation or even much thought beyond placing one foot in front of the other.

Cam mutters, "Left. Left. Left, right, left." She repeats it. Temperance joins in. It could be effective. Their breath condenses in the cold air and dissipates into the dark. They trudge on toward the building.

More snow falls as they walk. It quickly covers their footprints. There's no one pointing a gun at them or locking them in a pressure chamber or burying them underground. Everything is silent and still. But they're alone and it's only going to get colder. Temperance feels her own fear in her quickened pulse. For a mile or more there is only Temperance and Cam and the snow; Temperance and Cam and the building in the distance.

Finally the building is recognisably a cabin. The cabin seems welcoming in the way that any possible salvation seems welcoming. They hammer on the door, but the place is empty. Trees scratch against the roof and the porch boards creak.

"Oh good lord, now it's haunted," says Cam under her breath.

"Haunting is merely a misinterpretation of facts or a superstition," Temperance can't stop herself from saying, though she knows Cam doesn't believe in ghosts. She tries the door which is locked. "It's locked," she says.

Cam pulls off her jacket, wraps her hand in it and breaks the tiny window in the door. It's impressive. She reaches in and unlocks the door.

The relief on walking inside is like an expansion in Temperance's lungs. The women beam at one another. Temperance refrains from embracing Cam. It's almost certainly a reaction to her body's return to relaxation state and not a response to Cam's competence and smile.

The cabin is predictably cold but there's a fireplace so it's not long before they're warming their hands and feet and faces before a blaze. They sit side by side on the couch and stretch their limbs. The seat is badly sprung and tilts them toward one another.

"Very cosy," says Cam.

Temperance agrees that the situation lends itself to cosiness. She just never thought of herself as being cosy with Cam.

Cam shifts her weight and her thigh presses against Temperance's thigh. Their eyes meet for one of those strange, clear moments. Cam turns away.

It's interesting. Temperance quickly runs through possible meaning for the eye contact. It is not a private communication between co-workers in a public space. It's not a warning. It's not a private joke, or if it is Temperance is unaware of it so it's unsuccessful. Temperance and Cam usually communicate successfully. This means the only other possibility, though unlikely, is almost certainly true. It is sexual tension.

Temperance curls her toes.

Cam leans across to poke the fire with a stick. Her profile is lovely in the fire light. Temperance can see the way her bones fit cleanly under her skin.

"You're beautiful," says Temperance, surprising herself. She continues quickly. "Objectively you have an excellent bone structure and fine skin."

Cam laughs. She's not as beautiful when laughing, but Temperance wants to laugh too.

The post-adrenaline wakefulness is fading. Temperance feels languid and relaxed.

"Ready for bed?" asks Cam.

There's one bed. Temperance is unaccustomed to feeling awkward about bed sharing arrangements. "We'll have to share," she says, more brusquely than she intended.

"Yep," says Cam slowly and leans in to kiss Temperance. Temperance reaches a hand around Cam's neck to pull her closer. It's a very good kiss.

"You're an excellent kisser," says Temperance.

"Thank you," says Cam. "So are you." Her eyes hold a glint of laughter.

Temperance can think of no valid reason to stop. Admittedly Temperance is fairly distracted so valid reasons might be hard to come by. She pulls Cam closer to her. Cam kneels on the floor between Temperance's thighs and Temperance feels the breath catch in her windpipe.

Cam reaches to unbutton Temperance's jeans and slides one hand inside. Temperance stops cataloguing and closes her eyes with pleasure. She loves this point when physical feeling overwhelms her brain and halts somewhere between thoughts.

Cam's fingers shift in pattern; her other hand presses against Temperance's lower spine. Temperance lifts her hips, pliant in response. She opens her eyes. Cam's lips curl into a smile. She pulls Temperance's jeans down over her hips and lifts Temperance forward until they are kneeling, facing one another. The rug is soft under them.

"Turn around," says Cam. Temperance obeys, though it's awkward with her jeans around her knees. Cam bends Temperance over and presses a hand between Temperance's shoulder blades. Cam's other hand slides up between Temperance's thighs. Temperance arches her back and tilts her hips to offer more of herself. With Cam's weight above her and Cam's fingers pumping inside her, Temperance is beyond thinking.

Later as the fire dies, they climb into the bed and curl up against the cold. Everything feels easy and sleepy between them.

"I've been thinking about doing that for a long time," says Cam quietly.

"Oh," says Temperance. "It hadn't really occurred to me."

"I know," says Cam. Then smugly, "But it will now, won't it?"

Temperance is woken by the cold and the white morning light angling past icicles on the window. She hears, incongruously, her phone ringing.

"I think," says Cam from beside her, "we might have reception."

Temperance clambers out of bed. The air is icy on her bare skin.

"Where are you?" says Booth at the other end. "You've had us worried."

Temperance climbs back into bed as she explains about the semi-trailer and Cam's car and the blizzard and the cabin. When they're done she hangs up and turns to Cam.

"Booth," she tells Cam unnecessarily.

"Sounds like it. Back to the real world then?"

Temperance is not concerned with the so-called real world distinction. Clearly this hidden cabin, with its bed and privacy and chill air, is as real as the Jeffersonian Institute.

"It's all real isn't it," she says. "The point is no one will be here for a few hours and I'd like a chance to-"

Cam kisses Temperance on the lips. It might be that Cam just wanted to stop Temperance talking, but Temperance isn't about to complain.


End file.
